


A Merry Man

by jesusonaunicycle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Absent Characters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gwaine's a portrait, History of Magic, I guess it's a canon divergence since the universe isn't completely different, Immortality, M/M, May Become a Series, Merlin/Arthur if you squint - Freeform, Post-Camlann, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesusonaunicycle/pseuds/jesusonaunicycle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry stumbled through the dusty corridors, hopelessly lost. He hated the fact that Hogwarts didn’t have any maps; he’d been going to the school for three years already and he barely knew the grounds.</p><p>Or, the one where Harry gets lost in Hogwarts, meets a talking portrait named Gwaine, and gets to know the great and powerful wizard, Merlin. Although, Merlin isn't exactly what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Merry Man

**Author's Note:**

> So, this may not be my first crossover, but it is my first one with the Harry Potter universe, so I'm a bit out of my depth. But I've loved the Harry Potter stories since I was very, very young and have read them thrice over, so I hope I didn't make any dumb mistakes! If I didn't do my Harry characterization right, please let me know so I can do better in the future!
> 
> I've been dying to do this crossover for a long, long time! c: And I finally have a functioning computer!! So maybe I'll stop being a butt and actually get things done. (I doubt this, but I can dream. Don't shit on my dreams.)
> 
> Very special thanks to my proofreaders [Erin](beholdthebeautyofthine.tumblr.com), [Freddie](the-flute-master.tumblr.com) and [Lily](cosmiccas.tumblr.com) for being amazing and correcting my dumb mistakes!
> 
> Enjoy! c:

The waters of Avalon were covered in a white blanket of fog, shielding the rocky banks from view. The dark water lapped endlessly at the pebbles, filling the air with soft, wet noises. A damp, earthy scent wafted around the lake, heavy and thick in the fog-moist atmosphere. A lone figure sat on a large boulder facing the lake, lanky and thin in the shifting mist, resembling the spires that towered into the sky on the opposite shore. A castle, new in the ancient world around the figure, rose high and mighty into the slate gray sky, the faint green of ivy climbing the stone--the only splash of color in the grayed out world.

The figure had been sitting on that boulder a long time. The sound of boots on pebbles, loud and echoing in the quilt of silence, made the man’s lips twitch in a smile. His face was mostly hidden from view by a hood, only the tip of his nose and his lips visible in the halflight. He wore simple clothes beneath the faded silver hood, a plain blue tunic and brown breeches, and a faded red scarf that hung in tatters over his chest. The approacher stopped, waiting behind his shoulder until the man spoke.

“It’s been a long time, Albus,” said the man, his voice deep and gravelly from disuse. He had a faint accent, presumably from the hills southwest of where the lake and castle stood.

The man behind him, Albus, laughed softly at the words. He stepped around the side of the boulder and sat next to the younger man. Albus had a long, white beard and matching hair, his old face wizened and friendly. His gray eyes laughed along with his voice as he turned to the hooded figure, the small jewels in his robe and hat sparkling in the dim light. “Merely a blip in the time we have lived, my old friend,” said Albus in tones that resembled a cool, calm stream. “What brings you back here, after all of these years?”

The hooded man pursed his lips in thought. “I’ve grown weary,” he confessed in a light tone, suggesting there was more to his statement than he told. “I am not as young as I seem. The world has little use for me outside of these isles,” the man continued, turning his shadowed face slightly toward Albus, whose bushy white eyebrows had knitted in concern.

“Have you ventured to America? Surely there are more schools needed there, what with the influx of magical children rearing their powers?” asked Albus, smoothing his thick gray robes nervously. The hooded man chuckled.

“America has refused my help. I expect they still are floundering for their pride, since their revolutionary war,” the man mused. “You know how delicate their sensibilities are. Even after I traveled there for the findings of new magical beasts, they still do not trust me.” The man tutted and shook his head, as if it was a great shame.

Albus laughed. “You set fire to their countryside and then blamed it on a wayward phoenix! They do not even have native phoenixes in America, they have thunderbirds.”

The man laughed outright at the memory, a flash of pearly white teeth amidst the shadows of his hood. “You’re right, Albus. It’s surprising, even after a millennia, I still make the silliest mistakes.” The man smiled fondly at the older man across from him.

“Life is funny that way,” murmured Albus sagely, his own smile gracing his features. “As one keeps on living, they still have room to learn and grow.” The man turned to gaze at the castle in the distance, his smile gone soft. “That is why I love Hogwarts. You can see the children learn, and grow into brilliant witches and wizards.”

The man hummed in agreement, following Albus’ eyes to the stone structure in the distance. “That school is my pride and joy,” the man said quietly, his pale hands knotting in the brown fabric of his breeches. “I would love to go back.”

Albus looked at the man in surprise. “Really?”

“Perhaps not for teaching,” the man continued, as if Albus hadn’t spoken, “but just to help out along the grounds. Maybe I could come back as a student,” the man’s lips twitched at that, wryly. “I’ve always wondered how Slytherin has fared without me.” His tone was deliberating, calculating. Albus sat in silence, watching with masked fascination as the man thought out his plan of action.

Once the silence became too much, Albus spoke again. “Hogwarts will welcome you with open arms, my friend,” he said, a smile lifting his mouth. “Whatever you decide.”

The hooded man turned to Albus with an answering smile. “And I will welcome her just the same,” said Merlin, his eyes flashing an ancient gold.

 

♤ ☩ ♤

 

Harry stumbled through the dusty corridors, hopelessly lost. He hated the fact that Hogwarts didn’t have any maps; he’d been going to the school for three years already and he barely knew the grounds. He was already terribly late for his first class of the day, which happened to be Divination, so he didn’t much care whether he attended the class or not, but he thought he should make an appearance sometime. Ron was long gone; he’d been up before Harry for the first time in their entire friendship, and had left without him to go see if he could catch Hermione. Harry rolled his eyes just thinking about it; Ron was obsessed with the fact that Hermione’s new school schedule was supposedly impossible. He insisted that she would have to be in two places at once. It was bloody annoying.

So, Harry had gotten distressingly lost trying to kill time before class. He’d been told that this part of the castle was off-limits; not even Filch went back here. Tales were told of dark, dangerous secrets chained to the walls and terrible creatures prowling during the night. Harry had never believed them, mainly because if there was anything dark, dangerous and terrible in Hogwarts, he would have found it already. He was just that lucky.

Personally, he thought the corridor was brilliant, albeit a bit abandoned. Old portraits hung on the walls, mostly depicting an ancient castle with red flags flying in a fake breeze. There weren’t any faces or people that Harry could see, but the castle was a major fixture and even the flag was painted over and over again. Harry spotted a picture that had a completely crimson background and a golden dragon curled in the center, snoring faintly and puffing out small clouds of smoke.

Harry approached the painting with caution. The dragon seemed to be the only “living” creature in the corridor, though all the paintings were magical. He peered at the dragon, whose scales were more of a bronze color up close, about to ask for directions when he heard a lively voice behind him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Harry startled and turned around, his wand already extended. The voice laughed, obviously masculine, and said, “Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to scare you! It’s just that Kilgharrah is a little bit of an ass, you see? I was saving you from a terrible fate.”

Harry squinted at the opposite wall, adjusting his dusty glasses as he looked for the painting that spoke. “Where are you?” he asked, straining to see the line of paintings that went from the floor to the high ceiling.

“To your left,” said the man, and when Harry looked, he was pleasantly surprised. The man was leaning up against a stone wall, his legs crossed at the ankles. His hair was long and brown, and he wore bulky chainmail that hung just past the waist of a pair of brown leather greaves. He was grinning cheekily at Harry, and raised one hand to daintily wave, “Hello.”

Harry had to crouch to feel like he was making eye contact with the painting. “H-Hello,” he said, his brows furrowed. “Do you happen to know where Gryffindor Tower is?” he asked, thinking that Divination was almost over anyway, and he had Care of Magical Creatures next. He could wait in the common room until he had to go to class.

The man in the painting raised an eyebrow, his grin never wavering. “Nah, mate, sorry. I haven’t looked around this castle nearly as much as I should. I was told to stay in my corridor, and in my respective painting, if possible,” the man said, huffing out a breath. “Merlin’s orders, actually. Right wanker he is.”

Harry’s eyes widened. _Merlin_ had told this guy to stay in his painting? Who was he? And what did he _do_?

“Who are you?” Harry asked, voicing his previous thoughts.

The man in the painting laughed heartily and turned to face Harry. “My name is Gwaine,” said the man, taking a bow and flourishing his hand regally, “Sir Gwaine, knight of Camelot. Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I’d kiss your hand, but I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment.” Gwaine grinned roguishly through his long brown locks. Harry had to fight the urge to blush like a schoolgirl and instead clung to the knowledge Gwaine had given him, rolling his eyes.

“Camelot? You were one of King Arthur’s knights?”

“That I was,” Gwaine said, nodding and leaning up against the stone wall again. “I was friends with Arthur, though we weren’t the best of friends. We actually had our fair share of differences, especially concerning Merlin,” Gwaine flicked thoughtfully at a cuticle, his lips pursed. “The bastard never really knew what Merlin did for him. At least not until the end. But did Merlin love him,” Gwaine blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Damn shame.”

Interested, Harry leaned forward and rested on his knees in front of the painting. “What’s a damn shame?” Harry asked, his green eyes round. He’d never been that fond of history; Professor Binns was downright boring--it didn’t help that he was a ghost and had the most monotonous voice he’d ever heard--and mostly, Harry just slept in that class. But the history of Merlin--the real history--was much more enticing than he ever thought it’d be.

Gwaine laughed at his keenness, but his smile turned a bit sad. “Merlin did everything to keep Arthur safe,” he said, settling along the wall as comfortably as he could. Harry sensed this was going to be a long story. “When he first arrived in Camelot, he saved the prince’s life from a sorceress that was trying to get revenge on Uther, Arthur’s father. Uther had killed her own son.”

Harry’s brows knitted in confusion. “Why?”

“Magic was banned in Camelot at the time.”

“ _What_?” Harry exclaimed, incredulous. “But Camelot was the birthplace of magic! And in the books, even in our history classes, we were never taught any of that!” Harry glared at the little knight in the painting.

Gwaine seemed to expect his outburst and nodded quietly. “Much of the true history of Camelot is lost to the newer generations,” he said, and for a moment he sounded unbearably old. “Magic was banned in Camelot for as long as I lived. Merlin later told me it was because of Uther Pendragon’s wife and Arthur’s mother, Ygraine. Ygraine was unable to conceive and had turned to the Court Sorceress, Nimueh, for help. With her aid, Uther and Ygraine were able to conceive a child. A son,” Gwaine paused, his brown eyes troubled. “Ygraine died giving birth to Arthur. Magic, the type of old magic Nimueh and Merlin dealt in, always comes with a price. A life for a life.”

Harry felt his frown deepen. “Why doesn’t that happen anymore?” he asked, genuinely curious. He knew the extent of magic’s power; it was old, ancient like the force of water or fire; ancient like the tides of the ocean. A force of nature. But the new magic that Harry dealt in was not wild or untameable now.

“From what I’ve learned, magic was just beginning to become harnessed during those days,” Gwaine said. “It was long before institutions like Hogwarts were built to help sorcerers learn how to control their magic. Many sorcerers didn’t know what they were doing.”

“That’s… sad,” Harry said softly, thinking of all the innocent lives that were taken due to an emotional outburst, or an unintentional spell. “And wrong. Uther was wrong. I’m glad the times have changed.”

“As am I,” Gwaine agreed, and afterwards his grin returned in full force. “Anyway, enough about that. Merlin saved Arthur’s hide, is the point, and he continued to do so in secret until Arthur died. I don’t know most of the details, myself, I was dead at that point,” he said so nonchalantly, Harry almost choked on his own tongue.

“Where can I find out the rest of the details?” Harry asked, eager to know more. Gwaine looked at him a little quizzically and laughed.

“Well, you’ll have to ask Merlin, of course. I can’t go around telling every student at Hogwarts his secrets, now, can I?” Gwaine grinned, blinding even though he was a painting. Harry decided he liked Gwaine; for some reason, he reminded Harry of Fred and George.

Harry felt himself smile. “No, seriously, Gwaine. I don’t think asking Merlin is much of an option, anymore, since the guy’s dead,” he said, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. Gwaine gaped at him.

“Oh, tell me you’re joking! Tell me you didn’t just say that to me. Jesus Christ, are these professors teaching you anything?” Gwaine demanded, his hands finding his hips. Harry blinked vaguely at him, and Gwaine groaned loudly. “Merlin! _Merlin_! _**Merlin**_ , this kid thinks you’re dead!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the corridor.

Gwaine had clearly lost his mind.

“Gwaine, Sir Gwaine, I think you should be quiet,” Harry said, his eyes darting up to check the hallway for any sign of Filch. “I’m not exactly supposed to be here, so if you could shut your mouth, that’d be brilliant--”

“ _ **Merlin**_!” Gwaine roared, ignoring Harry’s protests and successfully waking up the slumbering dragon across the hall, who snuffled and groaned before promptly going back to sleep.

The hallway was quiet for a few moments before Harry heard a crash and clang further down the corridor. “Damn it, Gwaine!” Harry hissed, fruitlessly looking for a place to hide before the frantic footsteps came too close.

The approacher had the same sentiments as Harry did, apparently. “ _Damn_ it, Gwaine!” cried the newcomer, and Harry had to do a double-take because, wow, if that was Merlin, he’d aged really well.

The newcomer was dressed in a gray woolen jumper and a crisp white button-down underneath it and a tie in Slytherin colors to top it off. The only dress code violation Harry could see was the guy’s trousers, which were soft, dark denim instead of slacks. He was obviously young--no more than a seventh form student, really--with pale skin, a shock of messy dark brown hair that fell onto his forehead, wicked cheekbones and bright, big blue eyes that were behind thick, horn-rimmed, black glasses. His cheeks were flushed with exertion and his mouth was set in a firm line, as if he was trying to appear stern despite his rumpled appearance.

“Merlin!” Gwaine cried happily, his grin goofy even from where Harry stood. Harry gaped openly.

“You’re having me on,” Harry said, unable to keep his mouth shut. Two pairs of eyes turned to him: one in shock, the other in amusement. “That can’t be Merlin. Merlin’s the white-haired wizard in the blue robes that has an owl named Archimedes! He’s the old bloke teaching spells to King Arthur when he was a boy, not--not some Slytherin seventh former!” Harry shouted, feeling his reality start to crumble around him. The Slytherin boy regarded him suddenly coldly, and Harry shivered at the intensity--and the sudden age--shining in those eyes.

“Come with me,” said the boy, turning on his heel and stalking down the corridor without looking back. Despite this, Harry felt compelled to follow, and he sent Gwaine a helpless look before he set off after the boy. Gwaine simply smirked.

The boy led Harry down the rest of the winding corridor silently. The walls were adorned with similar paintings of Camelot and what Harry assumed was the surrounding area; a sparkling blue lake with pebbly shores and a beautiful green forest in the background, the ruins of ancient statues shaped as kings, a cave of pale blue crystals, a small white dragon in chains. Harry gazed at the paintings in wonder. When the boy finally stopped, it was at a doorway into what Harry assumed was a classroom or office. On the wooden door there was a tapestry made out of fine white thread, with a three-swirled pattern in deep blue in the center. Harry was about to open his mouth to ask what the symbol meant when the Slytherin boy pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The boy had taken him to a room that was eerily similar to Professor Dumbledore’s office. Instead of paintings, tapestries adorned the walls, some famous and some obscure. The tapestries depicted great battles, the imprisonment and freedom of dragons, the glory of magic and even a few familiar faces. Harry blinked when he saw the likeness of Gwaine behind a large, impressive mahogany desk, grinning roguishly among other armor-clad men. Next to Gwaine there was a man with ginger curls; a man with smooth dark skin; a man whose muscles were apparent even from the shoulders up; a man with dark hair and kind eyes; a woman who wore a delicate red dress and had fine, caramel-colored skin; and a woman with milky pale skin and sharp, cunning green eyes. They all seemed very lifelike, but Harry knew that tapestries, unlike paintings, were not filled with the lifeforce of the person they embodied. Magic could animate them in small ways, but you could never breathe life into a tapestry.

“They were my friends,” said the Slytherin boy, noticing Harry’s gaze. Harry turned to the boy to see, horrified, that the other boy’s face was twisted in despair. He quickly covered it, however, and his face became the cold mask that Harry had witnessed after his outburst. “They’re gone, now.”

“Who were they?” Harry asked hesitantly, his tone cautious and soft. He felt as if he was treading on eggshells around this boy, who may only look about seventeen, but was probably much, much older.

The boy in Slytherin colors turned to Harry and smiled a strained, odd smile. “The knights of Camelot,” he said quietly, gesturing to the men in turn: “Gwaine, but you’ve met him. Leon, the loyal. Elyan, the brave. Percival, the strong. Lancelot, the good. The woman in red is Guinevere, Queen of Camelot. And the woman next to her…” the boy trailed off slowly, gazing at the woman with a kind of regret that made it hard for Harry to breathe. “The woman next to dear Gwen is Morgana Pendragon, the last High Priestess.”

Harry swallowed thickly, feeling way out of his depth. “I’m assuming you really are Merlin, then,” he said quietly, and that got a bark of laughter out of the boy, who blinked as if in surprise of himself.

“Yes,” said the boy, turning to perch lightly on the edge of the desk. He was wearing a teasing smile, one that accented his sharp cheekbones and glittering eyes. He stretched out his long legs in front of him, looking more like a lanky teenager than an age-old wizard. “Merlin is the name I was given when I was born. I go by plenty of others, but Merlin is the one I prefer.”

Harry felt dizzy. “But you don’t look any older than seventeen!” he spluttered, once again making the wizard in front of him laugh. “And you’re a _Slytherin_!”

Merlin straightened at that, his blue eyes calculating and icy. “There is nothing wrong with being apart of Slytherin House, Harry,” Merlin said, stepping away from the polished edge of the desk to circle behind it.

Harry blinked in surprise. “How do you know my name?” he demanded. Honestly, he was tired of all-knowing magical beings calling him by name when he’d just met them. It was rude.

Merlin smiled wryly, as if he heard Harry’s thoughts. “You have your mother’s eyes,” he said, falling into the simple, high-backed chair behind his desk, “and your father’s personality.”

“You knew my parents?” Harry asked incredulously, wondering how he’d never heard of this. His parents were still largely a mystery to him, but he would have known if they’d been in contact with Merlin, of all people. Wouldn’t he?

Merlin smiled at him, leaning forward to his elbows touched the papers on his desk. His blue eyes were friendly, if a little tired. “They knew me by the name Colin Emrys. I use that alias every few years, since Colin is similar to Merlin but more common, and Emrys was the name the Druids called me. I was in the guise of a student then, mainly because I was bored, but when I met James Potter for the first time, I had a feeling great things were going to come from him.” Merlin’s smile broadened. “Lily was a spark; she defended me and another Slytherin student from James’ taunts. If you can’t tell, I’ve always been a bit of a target for schoolyard fights,” Merlin gestured to his lanky frame and glasses, his smile gone a bit self-deprecating.

Harry had a tough time believing anyone could really harm Merlin; especially his father. While he was told his father had been an exceptional wizard, Merlin seemed to radiate power, the way Professor Dumbledore did. “No, I don’t think I can see that.”

Merlin chuckled at Harry, dimples flashing. Again, Harry was struck by how young Merlin looked. “Well, your father had a bit of a hot head. So did your mother, and apparently so do you,” he said without disapproval or disdain. Merlin sounded as if he was simply stating a fact; in truth, he might have sounded a bit… amused, or even admiring. “The Potter-Evans line has been honored, indeed.”

“Why did you pick Slytherin?” Harry wondered aloud, his curiosity leaning away from his parents. He was interested in how Merlin knew his parents, yes, but he suspected he’d ask Merlin for his stories later, when Harry didn’t have to go straight to class.

Merlin regarded Harry solemnly for a moment before he waved his hand. Harry watched, rapt, as Merlin’s blue eyes flashed golden and a chair lifted itself off the ground a few feet away, only to slowly float to the edge of Merlin’s desk and settle there. Merlin raised his eyebrows expectantly and gestured to the chair. “Sit.”

Harry nodded dumbly and then sat in the offered chair, staring awestruck at Merlin. “You can do nonverbal magic?” he breathed, and Merlin smiled at him, a little bashfully.

“Yes. But you asked me a question, and I feel like I have to answer it, before it’s too late to change your mind.

“Slytherin House is just like any other house in Hogwarts, Harry,” Merlin started, catching Harry’s gaze and holding it. Harry felt pierced by the deep, timeless blue eyes that seemed to search through his mind, his soul. “The people in Slytherin are just like the people in Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. They require instructions, lessons, and opportunities, just like you do. Their reputation for dark wizards started with one man, one evil man who sought to destroy the life of magical folk as they knew it, who still seeks to do so today.” Merlin paused and waited for his words to take effect, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. Harry swallowed thickly.

“I met Salazar Slytherin, Harry,” Merlin said, his brows knitting slightly. “He did not want to destroy the world. He was simply a man who wanted to preserve the magical world, which, at that time, was in grave danger. The Middle Ages were unfriendly to witches and wizards, Harry, even--and especially--during my time. I can understand why Salazar did not want many Muggle-born children within the magical community,” Merlin said, but before Harry could interject, he held up his palm. Harry quieted and Merlin continued, “But that does not make it right. I’m not saying Salazar was a nice man, Harry, but he was not evil. Not like Voldemort,” Merlin looked at Harry gravely. “I did not choose Slytherin, little wizard, but I do not regret my placement, either. Slytherin House is a noble house, just like the others. I have as much house pride as you. I have done many regrettable things,” he said softly, his gaze glazing over, as if he was traveling far away. “Terrible things. But I am not an evil man. Just like you aren’t an air-headed, arrogant fool, like what most people assume about Gryffindors.”

Harry spluttered indignantly, feeling the ugly head of his house pride rearing up in his chest. Merlin laughed at the flush that had crept up Harry’s neck, and he raised his hands placatingly.

“I did not mean to offend you, little wizard. But now you see how house stereotypes are often not substantial?” Merlin said, a small smile quirking his lips. For the first time that afternoon, Harry actually returned the smile.

“I understand. I’m sorry,” he said, feeling a bit sheepish. Merlin simply waved off Harry’s apology, his smile now a bit indulgent.

“No need. Just remember what I’ve told you.”

Harry smiled, and then remembered his Care of Magical Creatures class. “Oh, damn! I’ve got to get to class!” Harry bolted out of the chair, almost knocking it over in his haste. A single one of Merlin’s brow raised nearly to his hairline. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Can I… Can I come back later?” Harry asked, patting his pockets distractedly for all of his things.

Merlin frowned thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes blank. Then, like the sun peeking out behind the clouds, Merlin grinned boyishly at him. “Come back here after supper. I don’t usually leave my office,” he admitted, and Harry beamed.

“Thank you!” Harry said breathlessly, before he started to dash out the door. He was halted by Merlin’s voice.

“Harry!” Merlin waited until Harry faced him, his expression solemn. “Unless they threaten you with death, promise me you won’t tell anyone I’m here, will you?” he requested, and Harry nodded, a little disappointed he couldn’t tell Ron and Hermione, but he wanted to keep Merlin’s trust more.

“I promise,” Harry said, nearly bouncing at the edge of the door. “But I’ve really got to go!”

Merlin laughed and waved him away, and Harry ran off like a shot, giving a hasty goodbye to Sir Gwaine as he thundered down the corridor the way he came.

Merlin remained in his office for a while. He had turned in his chair, facing the tapestries behind his desk, the faces of his friends. His face was a stone mask, his blue eyes vacant even as he pushed up his glasses with his knuckle. He gazed longingly at the tapestries for a considerable time, before facing his desk and digging through one of the drawers. When he found what he was looking for, he let out a small puff of laughter. He picked up the bundle, a paper-bound parcel that had collected dust in the bottom of the last drawer. He slowly unwrapped it and placed it on his desk, unfurling the package carefully. What he unwrapped was a tapestry.

Merlin smiled sadly at the rich crimson that now faced the open air. He slowly dragged his fingertips lightly over the stitchwork, fluttering over gilded, azure and silver thread. The likeness of a man stared up at Merlin with bright blue eyes, lighter than Merlin’s own, who had golden hair lighter than that of his golden crown, and who was proudly wearing chainmail. The pink of his lips was quirked in a smirk, one that Merlin remembered he wore quite often, and the mere sight of it made tears well in Merlin’s eyes.

“He reminds me of you,” Merlin whispered, gently touching the tapestry’s high cheekbone. His pale skin contrasted heavily with the tanned thread of the man’s skin. “He and his father both. I once thought that you were James,” he confessed in a whisper, his fingertips now sliding over the tapestry’s hair, “but you weren’t.” Merlin suppressed a sob as the animated tapestry blinked. “I miss you, Arthur,” he said softly, private like a kiss. “I miss you so much. Come back to me. We need you.”

Eventually, after a long while, Merlin refolded the tapestry and bundled it back in its package. The sight of his king pained him still, even after so many centuries. Albus had once asked Merlin to hang the tapestry, perhaps in Albus’ own office, to help heal Merlin’s wounded heart. But he couldn’t; he never could.

The tapestry went back into its very last drawer, at the very bottom. And Merlin waited for Harry to return, just as he waited for Arthur.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is much appreciated! Again, if there was any problems let me know! c:


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